A Cold Spell
by dekicobee
Summary: Short story following the opening of Act 3. After Meredith's comment about Hawke's inability to save her mother, the Champion withdraws and falls ill. Isolated from her friends and with magical seals preventing anyone from entering the estate - could this be the end for Hawke? Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no money - All hail Bioware!
1. Growing Cold

_"And you could do better? How well did you guard your own mother? Did she not die by a blood mage's hands?"_

The words rang in her ears; a ceaseless mantra.

_"How well did you guard your own mother?"_

There had been more. More words from Meredith. More from Orsino and then from Elthina. Hawke was sure she had spoken as well; but the only words she could remember were the ones still running in endless circles through her mind.

_"Did she not die by a blood mage's hands?"_

She had somehow arrived back at the estate; not that it had been far. At some point Varric had been there, Bella too. And Fenris.

But they were gone now; and she didn't know when they had left.

_"How well did you guard your own mother?"_

She now found herself outside her late mother's chambers; a room she had not entered once in the last three years.

_"Did she not die by a blood mage's hands?"_

A wave of nausea swept through the Champion, her eyes pricking with the tears she would not allow to fall.

Pushing open the door, she forced herself to take the step across the threshold.

Nothing had changed. Not a thing had been moved, and the room had been kept spotlessly clean and free of dust. Her mother had always hated dust.

She ran her fingers across the doors to the large armoire before taking a breath to steel herself; and grasped the handles to open the doors gently.

The gowns still hung there; pale pinks and lavenders with accents of deep purple or occasionally deep blue and black. Some were trimmed with lace, others embroidered in gold.

She ran her fingers over the expensive fabrics; heavy velvets and lightweight silks or linens. Stopping on one she had never seen her mother wear.

She pulled the gown from the wardrobe sending a paper fluttering from the hanger as she did so. Bending to retrieve the paper, she saw it was a string of numbers. Familiar numbers. These were her measurements, the ones her father's old robes had been adjusted to for her.

_"And you think you could do better?"_

She clasped the paper to her, crumpling it in the process; but she could not let it fall. Her mother hated things to be left lying around.

She closed the armoire carefully, taking the gown her mother had made for her over to the bed. It was still made up in the deep burgundy her mother had favoured for the room.

Setting down the garment she began to disrobe; folding each article of clothing carefully before setting them on the edge of the bed in a neat pile. It wouldn't do for there to be clothing strewn about in the chambers of Leandra Amell.

_"How well did you guard your own mother?"_

Removing the gown from the hanger, she loosened the ribbons and proceeded to step into the gown and pulling it over her body.

The icy blue silk was beautiful. A colour her mother had endlessly tried to get her to wear as it brought out the colour of her eyes; but she had resisted in favour of red.

_"Did she not die by a blood mage's hands?"_

Hawke closed her eyes and pulled the ribbons as tightly as she could. It was beautiful. Orlesian in style; off the shoulder tight fitting bodice and full flowing skirt, though somewhat toned down from what she knew was worn by the nobility there.

She made her way over to her mother's vanity; perching neatly on the stool as she stared into the looking glass.

Dark brown, almost black hair waving slightly to her shoulders, fringe covering the scar she received the day Bethany's powers had manifested.

Bethany

_"And you think you could do better?"_

She had not been able to save Bethany either. Her beautiful brave sister had not made it as far as Kirkwall.

Hawke had not been as pretty as Bethany; her features more striking and angular than soft and feminine. But the shape of their eyes and the curve of their lips had marked them as siblings.

She stared into her own eyes then; a piercing blue, the exact same shad as Carver's

Carver

_"And you think you could do better?"_

She had failed him too, in so many ways. At the very least he was still living and breathing thanks to Anders. Now he was far away in an order that were known for their sacrifices to keep the world safe; probably risking his life more often than she did and without the option to walk away.

And before that, she had been the reason he had been forced to live in the shadows and lie to keep her secrets. She did not blame him for the resentment that had built up over the years; every slip she had made that forced them to move.

They were finally managing to repair their relationship and form a growing respect for each other, when she had dragged him into the deep roads and she had nearly lost him too.

_"And you think you could do better?"_

Feeling the bile beginning to rise in her throat, she looked away from her reflection and at the items her mother had kept on display.

A simple wooden jewellery box; a silver griffon statuette; a framed sketch her father had drawn of her mother when they were expecting her, the charcoal strokes capturing her mother's hopeful beauty as she caressed her swollen belly.

_"How well did you guard your own mother?"_

She replaced the frame where it had been in pride of place and tentatively picked up a hairbrush her mother had usually kept in a box.

She stroked the soft bristles gently before pulling it through her hair once. Her mother had always loved fussing with hair; hers, Bethany's, probably even Orana's if she had had her way.

_"How well did you guard your own mother?"_

Replacing the brush atop the vanity she pulled open the top drawer to find the box that usually housed the precious item.

Having stowed the brush and box in their rightful places, Hawke absent-mindedly tugged the other drawer open. She was not sure what she had expected her mother to have kept in here; correspondence maybe, or sentimental trinkets unsuitable for display. What she had not expected was to find a stack of additional sketches.

Some of the older ones she recognised as her father's work; herself with a mabari puppy grinning; the twins holding hands curled up asleep; Bethany and herself with matching short haircuts after Carver had nailed Bethany's braid to the bed post; Carver struggling to list a sword as tall as he was; her mother cooking.

But the newer ones could only have been drawn by her mother; Varric caressing his crossbow in the study; Sebastian lighting candles in the Chantry; Aveline and Carver arm wrestling in Gamlen's hovel; Merrill curled up with the dog by the fire; Sandal swinging from the chandelier while Bodahn tried to grab him from the railing; Ander's wrapping a bandage around Isabella's ankle in the foyer; Herself teaching Fenris to read in the library.

Her breath hitched when she saw this one. They were sat close together but not quite touching; she was pointing at something in the book he was holding, but he was looking at her; his mouth quirked up in a half smile.

Fenris

_"And you think you could do better?"_

A familiar pang shot through her chest as she traced his features in this sketch. Another she had failed. She flipped through the next couple of drawings in the pile and saw they also contained the beautiful tormented elf. Unable to look through the rest of the pile she gently replaced the pile in the drawer

_"How well did you guard your own mother?"_

Hawke was trembling all over now.

Bethany; lost.

Caver; gone.

Fenris; failed and hurting

Mother; dead

How long until she failed another? Who would be next? Bella? Seb? Varric?

The progression of her thoughts chilled her to the bone. She felt so lost and alone; emotions she had been refusing to allow to surface swirling through her entire being; stirring up her mana.

Hawke had never allowed herself to lose control; not once since her magic had manifested. Even now she knew that she would never submit to the whispers of demons. Nothing in this world or the next could undo what she had already done, not done or had allowed to happen.

_"Did she not die by a blood mage's hands?"_

Her eyes drifted back to her reflection. Empty, haunted icy orbs stared blankly back at her; still not betraying the storm of emotions flooding through her system.

She could let go now; lose control, destroy everything around her. She was as dangerous as any entity lurking in the fade; it was why the world feared her kind and reviled them, locking them away to rot.

_"Did she not die by a blood mage's hands?"_

She had tried; tried so hard to be more than this. Tried to live as her father had lived; by serving that which was best and not most base within her. But for what?

_"How well did you guard your own mother? Did she not die by a blood mage's hands?"_

What mark had she left on the world? Nothing but a string of death, destruction and disappointment.

_"And you think you could do better?"_

No wonder Fenris had left; he had seen the worst of her kind after all. Perhaps he still likened her to a demon.

"What does magic touch that it doesn't spoil?"

She spoke these words aloud as she remained staring blankly into the mirror; letting her magic flow through her, pouring into the room. The looking glass frosted over, obscuring her reflection before cracking as the snow began to whirl around her bare shoulders


	2. Icing Over

'Varric I'm bored; let's just go get Hawke and have some fun.' Isabela swung her legs down from the table and stabbed the dagger she had been idly twirling across her knuckles deep into the wood to emphasise her point.

'Watch it will ya; Bianca's sensitive!' The dwarf lovingly caressed the crossbow he had been carefully buffing in his lap.

'Come on dwarf! We could storm the Gallows; steal some shit and sail off into the sunset!'

'Or you could stick to your "friend fiction"; keeps the fingers busy. I could put you in touch with my publisher.' The pirate eyed her fellow rogue suspiciously at this and crossed her arms. 'You're worried about her!' She practically accused.

Varric let out a heavy sigh. 'You saw her right? She didn't laugh at one of my jokes _or_ notice when you relieve her home of that bottle of rum. I doubt she even registered us leaving and we were with the damn elf! Not to mention we haven't seen her since and that was yesterday morning. It's like the last three years never happened; like she just lost Leandra all over again. I'm not sure how to fix this.'

He rubbed a hand across his jaw pensively, not meeting the other rogues eye. Isabela raised an eyebrow. She had noticed this too, which is why she was now insisting on Hawke's presence instead of enjoying herself at the bar.

'Well last time all she needed was a pair of pretty eyes, as I understand it; he didn't even need to bend her over a barrel. Ooooo, maybe her just reached inside and put her back together. Although… that voice…'

She trailed of at this thought, losing herself for a moment before Varric cleared his throat. 'So. Yes. Let's pick up the lanky pretty boy, then is all else fails; he can do that magical fisting thing.' Pulling the knife from the table, she jumped to her feet.

I don't know Rivani, I'm not sure _more_ broody is gonna help.' But he too was already on his feet, stowing Bianca ready for a trip to Hightown.

xxxxx

Fenris was on edge. Something was wrong. In all the time he had known Hawke; he had only ever seen her like this once before.

He had been watching her all these years; seen her make the decisions nobody else was prepared to do. Watched as she put her own life on the line for friends and strangers alike; and he had stayed by her side through it all. Even when he had not agreed with her choices, he had stayed; to keep her safe. The one halfway decent mage he had ever met.

This wasn't fair and he hated that it was happening. She was the most selfless, kind, witty, loud, beautiful, dangerous, infuriating, pig-headed woman he had ever met.

And he loved her.

The feelings he treasured even though he knew he had no right to them. He could not express them or profess them; but he loved her.

And the intensity of the emotion terrified him. So he stayed by her side, watching over her; protecting her and silently loving her. Absentmindedly he fiddled with the thin red band about his wrist.

He stopped his pacing and slumped down into a chair, his head in his hands. His eyes flicking over to the book of Shartan; upturned to mark its page.

Reaching over, he carefully lifts the book; tracing the once indecipherable lettering on the cover, before gently replacing the treasured item.

She gave so much, he thought; his mind turning back to her once more. To him _and_ to others, it mattered not if she knew them; even when they didn't deserve it.

And to Kirkwall itself; from ridding the streets of gangs and thugs, to duelling the Arishok to save this blighted place.

He shuddered suddenly at the recollection of that particular fight, forcing his thought away from the moment he was sure he had lost her. Unable to stop his thought progression, he suddenly recalled the look on her face when the Knight-Commander accused her of being in somehow responsible for the death of her mother.

_Fasta Vass!_ If the woman had been doing her job properly no blood mage would have been present in the city. Hawke would never have had to bear witness to the depravities of this forbidden magic. He had wanted to shield her from that.

The anger coursing through him forced him to his feet once more; yet again pacing the length of the one habitable room of his stolen mansion.

She had looked so lost; as though she had been plunged into ice-cold water and trapped there. She had withdrawn into herself completely, which was against her very nature.

He had wanted to comfort her; but did not know how.

So he had left.

Again.

Footsteps broke his train of thought, retrieving his Greatsword he listened to the clinks and scrapes that marked heavy armour now approaching. Readying himself into battle stance he waits for the door to be flung open; mentally preparing himself for an attack.

The door opens; creaking slightly.

'Fenris.' The red-headed captain of the guard enters, one eyebrow raised; and inclines her head.

'Aveline' The elf lowers his weapon and mirrors the gesture.

The guard captain seats herself in the chair he had recently vacated. 'Nice to see you've made the place more habitable; even if it is to trick my husband out of his wages.'

Before the elf can once again dismiss the notion; Aveline holds up a hand. 'That's not why I came, Fenris. There's been a sighting.'

xxxxx

Slipping into the dilapidated mansion their friend has claimed as his own, Varric and Isabela exchange looks at the sound of raised voices and smacked furniture which greets them.

Recognising the guard captain's level tones Isabela grinned down at the dwarf. 'Do you suppose she has to make him leave? _This_ I have just _got_ to see!'

'After you, Rivani.' The two rogues ascended the stairs quickly and quietly only to catch Aveline preparing to leave.

'Hawke not with you? I think she might be the only one able to talk some sense into him. As it stands; I've had my fill for today.'

'What? That's _it?_' Nobody clapped in irons or dragged to the barracks? Isabela pouted as Aveline marches from the room. 'The day is still young. Varric.' The guardswoman nodded curtly to the dwarf, her lips pressed into a hard line before leaving.

A deafening silence falls upon the house at the loud slam of the front door making her exit. Scratching an imaginary itch behind his ear, Varric attempt to broach the subject lightly. 'So, elf; we were hoping to catch some of that choreography you were telling me…'

'Do not test me dwarf!'

'Why is id nobody ever seems happy to see us?' The dwarf casually remarks to the woman beside him. 'Ooooo Varric, he's starting to smoulder; I've been holding out for the smoulder!'

'Tell me why you are here, then leave me!' The elf brought his fist down onto the table once again to drive his point home.

Varric let out a sigh and turned to the pirate; gesturing towards the glowering elf. 'You really think this level of brood is gonna help?'

'Are you kidding Varric? We've moved into cold insolence; she'll just melt!' The dwarf still looked uncertain, but held his hands up in defeat. 'All yours, Rivani; I kinda like my insides, well, in.'

Fenris was beginning to glow with rage, desperate to be rid of the pair of fools so he could think. But Isabela merely raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms beneath her ample chest.

'Here's the thing; you may have noticed that a certain little spit-fire has been somewhat subdued since her little run-in with the bitch-commander yesterday. She hasn't been to the hanged man since and we were supposed to be planning that little excursion to Sundermount, not to mention Wicked Grace night!' The pirate huffed at this last revelation.

The glow receded from the elf as he looked between the two. 'You are concerned.' The surprise was evident in his tone. Although he knew Varric cared more than he would ever admit to and was always watching out for Hawke; it had taken a Qunari invasion for Isabela to show any sort of concern.

'Oh tush! She was supposed to bring rum. The only thing that concerns me is that my particular set of skills might not be up for this sort of job. So, plan: Step one; you bring your pretty eyes over to Hawke, Step two; something exciting happens, Step three; we play cards, drink rum and make plans that lead to profit!.

Fenris regarded the pirate stoically. He had been worried about Hawke himself, right up until Aveline's visit had pushed thought of her to the back of his mind. He inwardly curses himself for once again allowing himself to put his past before her, however briefly.

'If it is for Hawke; whatever you need, I am ready to assist.'

'Excellent! Let's dance!'

'After you, Rivani. Elf.'

Varric dipped into a mock bow before following them out; hoping that it was only his overactive imagination giving him this deep sense of foreboding.

xxxxx

Orana was afraid. She was unsure of what she should do; and there was nobody to ask for help; the dwarves currently running errands in and around the market.

Her mistress was clearly in distress; but seemed to be in the middle of some sort of belated mourning ritual she was unfamiliar with. She had learned from an early age never to interrupt anything magical.

But her mistress seemed so lost, and she wanted to help. The small elf wrung her hands nervously trying to make a decision.

She started as the front door was thrown open unceremoniously and three of her mistress' friends entered. Sending up a silent prayer of thanks, Orana took a tentative step into the foyer.

'Hello sweet thing,' the pirate greeted, 'is Hawke about?'

The elf's eyes darted towards the stairs before she fixed them on the ground, flustered by the woman before her. She flinched slightly as the elven warrior carrying a sword as big as she stepped towards her.

'It is alright; you will not be harmed. What is wrong?'

There was a tenderness in the tone she had not expected; she began to wring her hands once more. 'Mistress is… not herself; I don't understand what's happening… I'm sorry Messere, I didn't know what to do! She is usually so happy.'

Fenris' markings flared, causing the other elf to cower away from him. 'Is she hurt? Where is she?' He struggled to keep his tone even and forced himself not to advance on the ex-slave before him.

Seeing that she still feared for both herself and the woman she had come to see as her saviour, Fenris sighed deeply and unclenched his fists. 'We want to help her if we can. Anything you can tell us will be appreciated.'

Orana's eyes flicked between the three visitors and she remembered what her mistress had told her when she had first come to the estate.

_'I understand this transition will be difficult for you, and I cannot begin to imagine what you've been through; but I will do all I can to help you adjust and keep you from further harm._

_Firstly, please don't mind the dog; he's a big softy really. If you ever need to run errands, or wish to take time to yourself outside of the estate, please take him with you; he's trained to keep my friends safe._

_If you ever need help or have questions, feel free to ask myself; my mother or Bodhan (that's the dwarf that lives here with his son.) Nobody expects you to understand everything right off the bat okay?_

_Oh and Orana, if there is __**ever**__ anything you __**don't**__ want to do, you must say so. You don't need to offer explanations, all I need to hear is the word __**no**__ and we'll leave it at that._

_If you are ever hurt and require healing, you must let me know. If I'm not around, there is an entrance to a free clinic that runs out of Darktown through the cellar. It's run by a friend of mine who will treat anyone regardless of race or station free of charge._

_If there is trouble here, I want you to get out as soon as you can. Get to the Guard Captain Aveline and tell her what's happening. She'll be up at the keep, in the barracks; if anyone tries to stop you, you just tell them Hawke sent you._

_Once you've passed on the message; or in the event she's not there, head to the Chantry and seek out a brother Sebastian. Ask him to get word to Varric Tethras at the Hanged Man then wait in the Chantry until you have word it is safe to return._

_My friends are my family and they can __**all**__ be trusted despite outward appearances. Never worry about withholding anything from them; they'll find out all the same so may as well save the time and effort._

_Oh and one last thing Orana… If anything ever happens to me… Fenris will look out for you. I'm not saying he'll take you in; but he will make sure you're okay. He understands better than I ever could the life you have lived to this point… he is the best man I have ever had the good fortune to know. Don't mind the hard exterior; he has a sort heart under all that armour._

Putting her faith in the woman who was slowly teaching her that life went beyond mere existence Orana stepped forward. 'I think the mistress is in trouble. She entered he Mama's room yesterday and has been…' She faltered here as she was still unsure as to what was actually happening.

'I think it's some sort of ritual? I'm not sure.' It was Fenris' turn to flinch.

'Hey now Broody, Hawke isn't stupid. She's probably just… venting after her friendly reminder from our _dear_ knight-commander. Still; we're not exactly magical experts. Maybe we should – hey!'

Fenris was already moving; he needed to see with his own eyes, not her! Not when he had trusted her! Taking the stairs three at a time, he rounded to the doorway of the late Leandra Hawke. He stopped dead at the scene before him.

No evidence of foul magical ritual as he knew them. No blood; no demons or the stench of death. And yet the scene before him scared him to the same degree of the horrors his former master had subjected him to.

There sat Hawke. In a dress of all things. A beautiful dress too, showing off her slender shoulders; it was something had never thought to see.

She sat straight backed and still, seemingly staring into a cracked mirror that sat atop the vanity she was seated at. But the mirror bore no reflection as everything in the room was frozen; colours muted from coatings of ice and dustings of the snow that was gently falling. It had settled into a glistening blanket; it clung to her dark hair, glinting where it caught the light.

'Well…Shit.'

At the sound; Hawke turned her head, slowly. She did not move her body which would allow her to face them, but showed her profile to be devoid of emotion. She stayed like this for a moment before turning back to the unseeing looking glass.

Fenris moved to take a step into the room when a wave of raw power surged through the chamber, swirling up the snow; slamming the door closed and forcing the four onlookers to stagger back.

Regaining his footing, Fenris saw the ice crystals forming around the door frame. Letting out a strangled noise akin to a war cry the elf threw himself at the door in an attempt to regain re-entry.

Too late; it had frozen solid in its frame.

Before he had a chance to hurl his full weight at the offending barrier he felt a smell, shaking hand grasp hold of the red band which circled his wrist.

Snatching his arm free he glowered at the quivering elf. 'Please Messere, you would break your bones before the door. Perhaps if there is a mage among you, they might be able to dispel the magic…'

Orana trailed off as the scowl that marred the other elf's face deepened even further.

'Ahem; I don't think broody here would want to be upstaged by more magic princess. All the same, you do have a point.'

The dwarf sighed heavily. 'I think we need to call in the cavalry here. Rivani; you think you can catch the guard captain?' The pirate simply nodded and left, her silence speaking volumes.

'I'll go get Daisy, which leaves you with a choice elf; Blondie or Choirboy, just bear in mind that we'll need princess here to collect your reject.' And without another word, Varric scuttled off, worry radiating from his stocky form.

Fenris took deep steadying breaths; trying hard to supress the emotions surging within himself. Orana kept her eyes lowered awaiting instruction; the blatant submission unnerving the warrior leaving a bitter taste in his mouth as he felt a wave of rage sweep through him for those who had made her so.

'Do you have a preference?' His voice was softer than expected, still low and gravely, but void of any malice. Orana stared up at him, eyes wide; she had not expected to be given a choice.

'Mistress told me that if there was trouble here to alert the guard captain and seek refuge and await news in the chantry.' Having noticed his reaction to magic, she left out the details in case of injury. 'I was to speak with a brother Sebastian and take the dog to keep me safe.'

Fenris blinked down at the she-elf. He had not known that Hawke had made such plans; that she had left instruction in an attempt to keep this woman, a mere servant, safe.

'As Aveline is covered, do you wish to inform Sebastian?' He was pushing the choice now, making sure she was aware that despite the instruction, she still had a choice. Orana nodded and offered a small smile as she turned to leave.

'Wait!' The word came out more explosively than he had intended, making him flinch as she recoiled from him instinctively.

'Please' his voice dropped soft and low, pleading gently with the elf before him. 'Did she leave instruction; the relation to me?' He looked away as he asked, fearful of the response and slightly embarrassed that he had felt the need to ask.

Orana regarded the warrior curiously. 'Mistress told me that despite appearances her friends can be trusted and that I shouldn't try to keep things from any of you. She said that if she came to harm, you would look out for me; that you were the best man she had ever known. That under all that armour was a kind heart.'

Fenris whipped his head back around, his eyes wide with disbelief. Orana smiled widely at the shock evident in his features before she turned away to collect the mabari and exited the house.

Suddenly the only sound Fenris could hear was the blood roaring in his ears as his heart pounded almost painfully in his chest. He should collect the mage; he knew. But he needed to see her, now more than ever. In a flash of blur-white; he launched himself at the door once more. This time he fazed through think ice heavy wood.

xxxxx

The scene before him sent a jolt of dread to his very core. Hawke had not moved from where she was sat at the vanity; but now a full on blizzard swept through the chamber. It was difficult to cross the room; he kept losing his footing, slipping on hidden compacted ice and the whirling flurry of snowy flakes impaired his vision.

As unrelenting as the storm he found himself in, he made his way steadily towards the statuesque woman. Her pale skin, exposed by the flimsy dress she wore had taken on a blueish hue; her veins more defined than usual.

Dark hair whipped about her, stirred by the storm she had created; while she herself, remained stock still. Terror gripped at his heart, unable to help himself; he called out her name. A desperately feral sound, coarse with fear.

She spun on her seat, seeking the source of the sound. Her eyes widened in fearful recognition; piercing blue finding forest green. He speaks her name again; softer, pleading. At this she tears her eyes from his and stands; taking in the devastation in the room, horrified at what she has created.

She suddenly feels the burning cold, the sharp stabbing of the ice-crystals that are blown about and she feels the fatigue she has brought upon herself by maintaining this for so long.

Digging as deeply in to her depleted mana reserves as she can bear, she dispels the magic lingering in the room; stopping the snow and banishing the ice instantaneously. Suddenly the only sound in the room is the heaving breaths both occupants are taking.

Their eyes meet again, both searching the others face. But before either can speak a word; her eyes lose focus and she pitches forward, dropping like a stone. Lunging towards her, he catches her before her head hits the floor.

She is soaked to the skin and cold to the bone, unmoving in his arms. No; she cannot die! Not like this, he will not allow it!

He brushes her wet hair from her face; his hand visibly trembling gently locates her weak pulse. He lowers his face to hers and feels her soft and shallow breaths. Allowing himself a moment of relief he waits to regain control of his own emotions.

When at last he has stopped shaking too violently to be of use he glances around the room. She is cold; her hair and dress are sopping wet; as are all the soft furnishings in this room. He needs to do something; get her warm and dry and away from here.

'Hold on Hawke!' There is much more he knows he needs to say, but he had not yet found the words and now is not the time when she is in no state to hear them.

He lifts the woman into his arms; who even dead weight and soaked through feels somehow insubstantial, resting her carefully against his chest plate and stalks to the door; which has swollen slightly in its frame.

Readjusting her, closer so that her cheek is nuzzled into his neck; he aims a powerful kick to the frame, before wrenching the handle. He stubbles slightly; gripping her tightly and forcing himself to maintain a steady pace, knowing her room is only a few doors down.

Upon entering the chamber, he glances around; the bed is mad and the fire is set. He looks down at her face; her lips are blue verging into purple, far from their usual red.

He needs to get her dry and then warm. He knows the first step is to remove her wet clothes; he carefully lowers her onto the rug as he looks over the ribbons haphazardly knotted at the base of her spine. He has no idea if the dress is important or expensive; if it holds meaning or significance for her. But she _is _important and ribbons are replaceable.

He pulls a small knife from his belt and wastes no time in removing the offending garment. The wet silk clings to her clammy skin, and he nearly tears it in frustration more than once.

He pulls the top sheep from the bed and swaddles her in it tenderly. Using a small square of towelling he finds near the wash basin he begins to wring the water from her hair. He eyes the fire place; although it is set, there is nothing with which to light it; she of course would have needed nothing.

He lifts her into the large four poster bed and pulls the duvet around her. Her lips are still an unsettling shade of indigo and there is only one other way he can think of to warm her.

He removes his armour swiftly, letting drop to the ground along with his sword and pulls his tunic over his head; abandoning it where it lies. He hesitates briefly before he tentatively crawls into the bed beside her. He takes a steadying breath and mentally prepares himself for what he is about to do physically.

He unwraps her from the sheets and pulls her naked form flush against his exposed torso, before arranging the blankets around them both to keep the little heat they have in.

He expects her touch to cause him discomfort; some modicum of pain as his markings respond to her magic. But all he feels is cold softness pressed against him. His heart pounds in his chest once more as he rubs her back to encourage warmth.

She begins to stir; shivering violently, able only to take short, shallow breaths. It is difficult to open her eyes; she is so very tired, but she feels she must as she seems to be burning.

Then she sees his face; he saying something, but she can't seem to hold onto the words. It doesn't seem to matter; she feels safe and happy here in his arms and tried to bring a hand to his face. For some reason her hand is trembling and she finds movement difficult. She finds herself staring at the unwilling appendage which now rests on his exposed chest.

She has the desire to trace his markings, but still her motor control is off kilter so she gives up. She is tires; so tired, and he is warm; almost unbearably so and she tells him so.

Fenris feels panic once again grip his heart; the woman beside him, usually so sure in her movements is flailing clumsily. Her eyes shift in and out of focus as she seems to fight for consciousness; her words are unintelligible as she mumbles something as she tried to push the blankets from her.

This goes beyond his ability to help and he realises he has only one choice left to him now that her eyes slide shut again. He props her up gentle in the pillows and tucks the blankets around her tightly.

He hastily grabs his tunic and sword; unwilling to waste time fastening the many buckles and fastenings of his armour. When he reaches the door he can't help but look back at her. He unexpectedly meets her eyes; and in them he sees a desperate sadness that does not belong there.

xxxxx

She had allowed herself to sleep again. And again when she opened her eyes he was no longer beside her.

She watches him stalk to the door; not offering her empty excuses before he flees this time. Pausing in the doorway he looks back at her, but she doesn't have the energy to beg him to stay this time.

So she waits until he leaves before allowing herself to move. She struggles somewhat; feeling drowsy and uncoordinated. She briefly wonders if she has been poisoned, but her mind can't seem to stay on one track of thought.

Her foot catches on something hard and black at the side of her bed, causing her to stumble. It takes her a full minute and all her concentration to leave the room and reach the balcony.

From here she surveys the emptiness. It somehow seems apt; a hollow home for a hollow heart. She grips at the bannister and feels power build within her.

She wants to keep them out; for if she keeps them out, they cannot leave here. The magic flows through her and into the polished wood beneath her fingers; infusing into the masonry of the estate.

It is becoming harder to stand, to keep her eyes open, to keep focused. Her grip falters and she crumples to the floor.

Her last thought as she slips into the embrace of unconsciousness is, **_keep them out!_**


	3. An Unexpected Thaw

**A/N Sorry for the delay and that it's a short one. The next update will be much sooner I promise! **

**Thank you so much to all those that have favourited and followed and especially to those who have taken the time to write a review. You always make my day when you do. I hope you enjoy!**

**_"Mage!"_**

Anders jolted awake at the desk, upending his inkwell in the process. In his sleep addled state he scrabbled frantically to rescue the latest scrawled pages of his manifesto.

"**_MAGE!"_**

This time the voice was accompanied by a loud bang as the door to the clinic is flung open despite having been locked and bolted.

"Fenris?" Suddenly awake, the blonde is on his feet, moving quickly towards the sound. The call from the elf was desperate but devoid of any malice. If anything he sounded frightened; and if the wild dog was scared, there was sure to be trouble.

Snatching up his staff en route, the mage breaks into a run towards the man at the entrance of the clinic who was wide eyed and leaning heavily on his ridiculously oversized sword.

Immediately the healer began to search for the injury; he couldn't see any blood, and the lack of visible bruising suggested nothing internal. In the eight, nearly nine years they had known each other, Fenris had never stepped inside this clinic without Hawke; and even then only when one or the other of them was already half dead. Perhaps the elf was sick?

"Here, sit down. Are you in pain?" Shocked by the professional concern Fenris allowed himself to be guided a couple of steps further into the clinic towards the nearest cot.

"Unhand Me!"

"Yeah, yeah; magic is evil – a taint upon the world that is cursed. But if you allow me to ascertain what the problem is, I have; potions; poultices; salves and balms that might work. You'll need to tell me what's happened as I'm guessing you would rather I didn't examine you with my accursed talents."

His voice was level and surprisingly calming, if a little weary. Fenris blinked up at the man attempting to guide him onto the cot and frowned. He had not expected this. Snide comments and angry asides; yes. But not this willingness to help him; especially considering Hawke was not present.

"You misunderstand, I am fine. Hawke; Hawke needs help!"

"What? What's happened? Where is she?"

The abomination managed to surprise the elf again when he didn't immediately start throwing accusations and laying blame at his feet.

"The estate, please?! I think – I think it is bad."

The mage looked the elf over curiously, but nodded once.

"Right; details on the way, if you would be so kind."

Gripping his staff tightly, he did his best to wedge the door back into its frame and began thrusting a great deal of vials, loose herbs and bandages into a pack.

"Yesterday morning she tried to resolve a public confrontation between Meredith and Orsino before another pointless riot was incited. She attempted to show them that there was fault on both sides; which did not go down well.

"Meredith saw this as the opportune moment to publically remind the Champion of the circumstances surrounding her mother's death; and tried to further diminish all efforts of mediation by implying it was in no small part a failure of her own inability to act."

A bottle smashed as it hit the ground and Fenris dropped into an offensive stance. The mage's hands shook with fury as he fought an internal battle to maintain control.

"The grand cleric showed up shortly after and sent the pair back to the Gallows like petulant children. She thanked Hawke for her intervention; dispersing the crowds and Hawke retuned home.

"Today Varric and Isabela appeared at my door worried after a missed game of cards. It transpired that nobody had seen Hawke since shortly after the incident and it was deemed prudent to check up on her.

"When we arrived at the estate it was to find the elven servant in distress. Hawke was – "

His voice cracked here as he visualised the scene they had found. Having regained himself fully; Anders pulled on his coat, glancing over at the elf as he did so. If he didn't know better he would say that the beast was on the verge of tears; his aggressive stance dropped in to something almost defeated.

"She was in her mother's room. She – she was just sitting there, and everything… everything was frozen. When she realised we were there; she slammed the door closed with a wave of raw power and froze the door in its frame

"Varric, Isabela and the elf went to get the others. I… I phased through the door, and – she had created a blizzard. Then it all just… stopped; but she was so cold – and then she lost consciousness."

Fenris squeezed his eyes close in anguish of the memory. The mage closed the distance between them and gripped the smaller man's shoulders shaking him slightly.

"Did you leave her there like that?"

The elf could once again feel the human fighting for control with the demon inside, and knocked the hands from his shoulders; pushing the mage back a step.

"NO! I took her from that room; removed her wet clothes and wrapped her in blankets. I tried to light a fire but did not have the means to do so. Then she started speaking gibberish, slurring her words together, so I came for you!"

He stepped up to the taller man grabbing a fist full of feathers as he glared up into the normally brown eyes which had begun to flash blue.

"And it is a healer she requires abomination; so keep a hold of yourself. Your demon will only make things worse for her!"

A slight heat rose in the human's cheeks as he blinked angrily before offering a curt nod. The elf released him and handed him the pack of medical supplies before stalking towards the passage to the Hawke estate.

The mage followed at a fast jog.

"It sounds as though she might be hypothermic. Did she seem confused or uncoordinated?"

"It was hard to tell, I could not make out anything she was saying. Her movements were sluggish and certainly seemed to lack purpose."

Anders frowned as they reached the ladder and began to climb

"Was she breathing in short shallow breaths? Or shivering at all?"

The elf took a moment to consider this before answering

"She was… she seemed to be panting, and she _was_ shivering… but then she – stopped."

Fenris had fallen a little behind the mage; but his sensitive ears still caught the whispered curse that came from the man above him; who now began to accelerate his already fast pace.

Putting on his own burst of speed to catch up to the mage, Fenris felt his stomach lurch. What could that mean for Hawke?

A loud thump came from above him along with a string of loud expletives as the man above came to an abrupt stop.

"Why are you stopping?"

"The trapdoor is shut and seems to be stuck! Why didn't you leave it open?"

Anders began to mutter under his breath as he rubbed the top of his head. A jolt of dread shot straight through the elf's heart.

"I did. _Move!_"

Shoving the cussing human roughly to one side; Fenris drew level and threw his full weight upwards against the door.

"Venhedis!" I will phase through and find out what is blocking the way."

Igniting the lyrium that swirled beneath his skin, he once again surged upward. Pain ripped through him; overwhelming him completely and sending his muscles into spasms as he fell backwards away from the ladder.

Anders only just managed to catch him; grasping at his tunic and struggled to keep his hold as the elf contorted in pain.

A full minute later Fenris could once again grip the rungs weakly himself. Anders began to look him over, but the elf flinched away.

"Do not fuss; I require no healing"

His voice was cracked and his breath still came in rasping pants.

"Is that so? Well if you want to challenge mules as to who is more stubborn I have my silver on you. What in the void was that then?"

Green eyes glowered into brown.

"The markings react to magic. I believe this way has been sealed."

"But magical seals alone aren't designed to cause pain; just block an entrance, there are no glyphs present. Or Ru – "

Fenris cut the mage off, speaking without emotion.

"These markings were designed and created by a power mad sadist who used them to exact complete control over me. If he placed a seal that I could have used the markings to bypass, I would have an advantage. His control over me would not be universal and therefore flawed."

Unable to face the pity that overrode the disgust on the humans face, he dropped his eyes.

"I suggest we try another entrance." He growled as he began his dissent.


	4. Weathering the Storm

**A/N A quick update as promised! Much love to this story's followers; I'm finding I've become emotionally entangled with this, thus the end section of this chapter.**

It took nearly a full hour for the pair to reach the main entrance to the estate; even knowing the shortcuts available between the destinations. Unarmoured as he was; Fenris was vulnerable in case of attack, and as such forced to avoid the chance of confrontation.

Once they hit the steps to high town; the two men sprinted up to the house, where a familiar group had now congregated.

"Elf! Blondie! I guess that answers that question…"

The dwarf greeted them frowning.

"The back passage is blocked too then?"

Merrill asked; oblivious to her double entendre.

"This door is; and all the windows. Isabela couldn't get over the walls either."

The Dalish elf's shoulders drooped as she glanced between the new arrivals.

"Sealed? The whole building?"

Anders gaped; his eyes widening at the now impenetrable building.

"I think so. Quite extraordinary magic; and strong too. I tried to dispel it but I can't seem to locate the source. It's as though it's everywhere and nowhere all at once; I'm babbling again, aren't I? I'm afraid everything I've tried has been utterly useless."

The despondent elf sighed; devoid of her usual buoyant energy.

"Don't fret kitten; that's why we have a plan B!"

Isabela rubbed her friends back; dark eyes betraying her underlying worries.

"_NO!_ We need to get in there _now!_"

Fenris bellowed at nobody in particular, the markings in his skin flaring. A gentle hand came to rest on his shoulder; and the elf looked round to meet the eyes of the last person he had thought would offer him comfort.

"As long as the seals hold – we at least know she's alive to maintain them. Panic when they fail without outside interference."

Dropping his gaze to the dwarf, Anders added;

"Isabela mentioned a plan B?"

"That she did blondie; but I'm pretty sure your plus one isn't gonna be on board with this one, and we _really_ don't need him gate-crashing this particular party."

The mage let his hand drop from the elf's shoulder as if burned; squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he fought a silent inner battle.

"_Templars?"_

The word escaped his lips in little more than a whisper, but held the weight of any hissed curse. Fenris regarded the man at his side; silently willing him to regain control of his demon.

With a final shake of his head, Anders re-opened his eyes; which were thankfully their usual shade of brown.

"A surprising number of Templars are involved in either the resistance or the mage underground itself. If we want to keep this from Meredith; there are a few we can trust."

Varric exhaled heavily and grinned up at the human.

"Never knew you had it in you Blondie; good for you! So – who owes Hawke a discrete favour?"

"Oh! – She did save the pretty blonde one with the lovely curls. He never arrested her!"

Aveline rolled her eyes, and cut across the naive elf impatiently.

"And in doing so; the knight-captain will consider his debt repaid in full. I _really_ shouldn't be hearing this!"

Isabela threw an arm around the guardswoman's shoulders.

"_Relax _big-girl! Surely keeping the Champion of Kirkwall match-fit and ready to fight the good fight is all part of your many duties? Besides; you'll look far more legitimate in the Gallows than; a pirate, a couple of mages, a lyrium imbues elf and a beardless dwarf!"

Aveline extricated herself sharply from the rogue; eyeing her suspiciously.

"Wounded though I am, Rivani has a point; all of us going to the Gallows is going to attract the wrong kind of attention."

Varric attempted to guide the group back on track, before the all descended in to sniping at each other.

"So – who hasn't had their oppression for the day?"

"I'm for Hawke."

Aveline looked somewhat resigned, but determined.

"Oh I am too; which is precisely why I'm _not_ going."

Isabela gave a mock salute, before throwing her arm around Merrill as she guided the elf a few sauntered steps away. Sebastian stepped up beside the Guard Captain to take Isabela's place; having gone unnoticed until this point as he was wearing his simple Chantry robes.

"We must stand together, for Hawke."

Not in the mood for the righteous sermon that usually succeeded these words; Anders shook his head.

"I think it would be best if I stay. Bringing a known apostate to the Gallows would be asking for trouble we just don't have time for. Varric; you'll be wanting Thrask. Hawke's helped him with Templar business before as well as a more… personal matter. He's… sympathetic towards mages."

He eyed the brother wearily, as though wary of speaking freely.

"He should be willing to help Hawke at any rate, and keep quiet about it."

With that said he raised a hand as though to squeeze Fenris' shoulder once more before pulling up short of the action, waving awkwardly and moving off calling over his shoulder.

"We'll be here when you get back. For Hawke."

The mage shuffled over to join the two women now seated on the threshold to the estate.

"You need to suit up choirboy?"

Varric asked Sebastian; but the brother merely smiled serenely.

"We are for once hoping to actively avoid conflict. In this instance my Faith will be my armour, our cause my shield. I have my bow, if there is need; I will fight, and pray for forgiveness later."

The dwarf's mouth hung open; blinking incredulously up at the prince, for once at a loss for words.

"Not _now_ Varric!" Aveline hissed as she glared at him, jerking her head towards the terrified elf.

"Varric, Fenris, Sebastian; with me. Move out!"

And without another word she turned on her heel and stomped off towards the docks; the three men at heel.

Three pairs of agitated eyes watched their departure.

"Do you think you could go? To the Gallows I mean. Not with them, but, well; sort of… after them Then you'd have their backs. Make sure they get there quickly, I mean; you're very good at not being seen…"

The elven mage trailed off, unable to articulate her request any better. Isabela looked down at her Dalish friend with a warm smile.

"Oh kitten; you know I never _can_ resist those puppy eyes! Or a good fight…"

"How can a cat have a dog's eyes? I missed something again didn't I? I don't think it was dirty though – unless the dog was rolling in mud –"

The pirate laughed and shook her head.

"It definitely wasn't dirty this time, you goose! I'll make sure they get on a boat and back in one piece. Don't try too many forbidden magics while we're gone – the Rose _is _right around the corner; more Templars in there than the Gallows!"

And with a wink she melted into the shadows and was lost in the crowds of the Hightown market. Anders sank down to sit next to the blood mage; his face etched with worry.

"You didn't actually try any forbidden magics did you? Right on Hawke's doorstep?"

The elf shot a reproachful look at the human beside her.

"I think we have very different definitions of forbidden magics. I dare say a lot of elven magic is frowned on by the chantry, and the ignorant."

She sighed heavily and tried to let go of the anger; it wasn't helping any of them at all right now.

"There isn't any blood-magic I know that would be useful if that's what you were thinking. Well – unless I could pin point where Hawke is; and then use blood magic to control her in order to force her to expel the seals herself. All without being able to see her; not to mention it might backfire horribly considering the strength of the spell work already in place. Not that I would anyway; not to Hawke, not ever!"

The diminutive woman shuddered at the thought and wrung her hands.

"But – up on Sundermount; you used blood to dispel the barrier… I just thought…"

"Ah yes – well; barriers and seals are different. Elemental barriers can be broken by opposite effecting spells. Arcane barriers can be bypassed by offering blood payment sometimes; usually, I think. Surely your spirit understands these things?"

Anders looked wearily down at his hands; trying to hide his disappointment that even in the forbidden arts, there seemed to be no way to get to Hawke without the help of a blighted Templar. Merrill took this opportunity to change the subject.

"You came here with Fenris; I didn't know you were friends now. He could use more friends, I think; he doesn't like me much though…"

Anders looked up at the elf incredulously, and let out a huff of a laugh.

"I don't think we'll ever be _friends_ Merrill!"

"But you were _nice_ to him. I don't think you've ever been nice to him before – or me really… And Hawke isn't even around to try to make you. Are we friends now?"

The human felt a pang of guilt that this woman might have been seeking his friendship. Her eyes were wide and green and naïve; and he didn't know what to say.

"Hawke is exactly _why_ Merrill. We _all_ need to hold it together – for her."

The mage saw the elf's eyes widen a fraction more as he watched realisation set in.

"You love her. You do, don't you? I mean you really actually _love_ her. But if you do, why don't you tell her? I mean she's always been kind to you –"

Anders cut her off before she could continue rambling in this vein.

"Stop! _Please_, just stop."

"But why? Is that why you hate Fenris? I mean I thought you hated him – but then you helped him. I'm missing something again."

Anders let his head fall back against the heavy door and took a deep steadying breath.

"Hawke is the best friend I've _ever_ had. She's seen the worst of me and accepted it, been there for me; supported me. But I know what I am; how dangerous I am. It would not end well for anyone who got involved with me. The Circle – it does things to you Merrill; you have to adapt to survive. I'm not sure I'm truly capable of love; not in the way she deserves. And if that wasn't enough; her heart lies elsewhere."

He closed his eyes, refusing to allow himself to produce tears.

"I thought that was over –"

"It doesn't matter. She still loves him."

He opened his eyes and offered a rueful smile to his elven companion.

"And he her. If they allowed themselves; they might even be happy."

Not knowing what else to say; the Dalish girl gently took hold of the broken man's hand as they waited for the others to return.


	5. A Patch of Black Ice

_**A/N sorry this was done really quickly and probs needs an edit so be kind. Away for the next two weeks, so will be very slow on the next update - Sorry!**_

The journey to the Gallows had been surprisingly uneventful; although the ferryman had been scared into silence at the combined murderous looks from Fenris and Aveline. Varric was unusually quiet, causing a foreboding silence to settle upon the anxious group.

Upon entering the Gallows, the dwarf spoke quickly and quietly.

"I know this is a tough call, but if you could stop with the ominous faces; we might not look so suspicious. Okay, now Thrask should be around here some-"

He snapped his mouth shut and plastered on a carefully casual smirk, as a familiar face approached the group warily.

"I suppose it was too much to hope for that you would not come here in person Captain. Look, I imagine you're none too happy with the accusations against you; which are baseless, I am sure. But I was sincerely hoping that the Champion would have put paid to this unfortunate rumour a little more discretely-"

"Uh – Curly?"

Varric interrupted the Knight Captain; hoping to prevent what might well have become a physical altercation they really didn't have time for.

"As innocent as I'm sure Aveline is – that's not what brought us here this fine day."

Offering up a silent prayer that Aveline would manage to take this latest revelation in her stride; Varric furiously tried to come up with a new plan, racking his brain for any reason they might have for seeking out a senior Templar.

"Oh. I – erm. Ahem… What _has_ brought the friends of the Champion out here if I might ask? Is there – Um. Could I be of any assistance?

The Templar shuffled awkwardly, a blush rising up his neck as he rubbed it; unable to meet the Guard-Captain's eye.

Aveline for her part remained silent, staring stonily at the increasingly uncomfortable man.

"I was hoping you'd say that!"

The dwarf grinned up at him.

"You see we're here on Hawke's behalf; busy girl, the Champion! I'm sure you remember when we first met, not under the best circumstances; I'll be the first to admit. But daring adventures aside; she saved the day, along with your ass amongst others. Now you may have noticed, our Hawke; compassionate to the last that one! And she likes to check up on, well, everyone. Seeing as she's pulled _our_ asses out of the fire; I mean you were there with the Arishok right? We offered to help out our illustrious Champion and check in with you and that other kid she saved. You know Keenan? Kieran?"

"Keran?"

Cullen offered

"_That's_ the one! Now we can let the lady know that you're still fighting the good fight; how's the recruit doing?"

The Knight-Captain blinked down at the dwarf, bemused.

"You came all the way out to the Gallows, on behalf of the Champion; to make sure that a couple of Templar's are well?

He narrowed his eyes at the small group.

"And this happens right after she intervened with that little public display; in which she openly supported the First Enchanter?"

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"And yet she did not come herself? Do I about have the measure of the situation?"

Allowing his hand to drop heavily back to his side he retuned his gaze back to the dwarf incredulously.

"Which is precisely why she is _not_ here. Fool!"

Fenris practically growled.

Sebastian placed a hand on the elf's shoulder and stepped towards the Templar, smiling serenely.

"The Champion of Kirkwall felt that her presence here might have exacerbated the current tensions. She cares deeply about maintaining the balance of peace in the city and holds too much respect for the Knight-Commander to enter the Gallows so soon after that unfortunate incident. She didn't want her actions to be misinterpreted; that it might be seen as trying to remove Meredith from her position or some other such nonsense."

For once; Varric found that he was at a loss for words, seeing the lie roll so easily from the Choir-Boy's tongue. It was easy to forget that under those chantry robes, beat the heart of a once notorious rogue.

Fenris' eyes flicked over the guard captain and the dwarf; both of whom were openly staring at the still smiling former prince. Glancing back at the Templar, he was relieved to see that the Knight-Captain's unsure eyes were also still on Sebastian.

The elf felt his heart beat heavily in his chest as he fought for a lie that would salvage the situation; anything that could save Hawke. He felt a sweat break over him as he clenched his fists and stepped up to the blonde human.

"The words spewed forth from your commander have caused the champion to question her own judgement. She wishes to check up on the boy she saved from demonic possession without ruining his chances within the order. She asked for the support of the chantry, who are willing to perform an independent examination with the co-operation of the City-Guard should the worst occur; without incurring the wrath of Meredith. Might I point out that it is not an obligation of the Champion to rid the streets of Kirkwall from Maleficar; I believe that is the obligation of the Templar order, and if I were looking to place blame for the murder of the late Lady Amell, it would not be at the feet of Hawke."

Though the elf made no further move, Cullen visibly flinched at this; the observations hitting a little close to the bone. It was at this point Varric regained himself enough to intervene.

"Cool it Elf! Look, Curly; the last thing we want is to piss off your boss and spark a war this city could really do without; we've only just recovered from that rampage of angry Qunari! We just want to confirm all is well, and then leave all you humans in skirts to bicker amongst yourselves. We're not here to step on anyone's toes; so if you wanna keep this internal, we'll be on our merry way."

Fenris watched the dwarf spread his hands casually and give a shrug. Flashing a glance at Aveline, the elf fought the urge to violently coerce the Templar into agreement. Finding himself losing the internal battle, he stalked away before the impulse to thrust his fist through the dwarf and into the Templar overwhelmed him.

He stood at the water's edge, glaring at the ferry. He wanted to run. To fight, to scream, to cry! The swirl of the strong emotions were impeding his ability to think, let alone act. He was truly useless; having failed at the one thing he had been created for! Unable to protect the one person that had made him grateful for his abilities; who had taught him to treasure the talents that helped him keep those he cared for safe. But he had failed. Hawke was beyond his protection.

A hand tentatively rested on his shoulder, forcing him from his thoughts. He instinctively flinched before looking up at the human with wide watery eyes; for once allowing his vulnerability to show as he radiated fear instead of anger.

"Hold it together. The Knight-Captain has sent for the boy. If anything I think Varric has got him to finally start questioning his superior officer. It _will _work, just don't fall apart now!"

The set of Aveline's jaw suggested the words she had spoken weren't only for his benefit.

The wait was not long, but it dragged painfully for them both standing in silent vigil as they waited for the others.

Eventually the group had been joined by the trembling recruit, the only one aboard the ferry not willing the vessel to move faster.

"Keep up kid!" Varric murmured to the recruit as they hastily disembarked. Keran shuffled hesitantly as he looked down at the dwarf. Letting out a snarl, Fenris launched himself at the man.

"Hold your horses!"

Isabela chided him, having seemingly materialised at his back as she gripped him hard by his armour.

"5 silver says you forgot to tell the poor sod which way is up, you goose!"

Shunting the pirate from his back, the elf rounded on the recruit, causing the man to cower away from him. Closing the gap between them he growled

"On the way."

After which he immediately ignited his brands; pulling the human along with him at inhuman speed.

xxxxx

"How long?"

Anders glanced over to Merrill questioningly. The elf let out a little sigh before returning his gaze.

"You know what's wrong – or you think you do. You're almost close to giving up now – but you can't, not on her. But you're a healer so you know – even if you don't want to. So – How long does she have Anders?"

Tears began to prick at his eyes, his breath stuck in his throat. Merrill's own held a strength he had not thought to find in somebody he had easily disregarded as idiotically naïve. He opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head.

"If it's what I think it is, I'm amazed she's lasted this long without treatment. It may already be too late, even if her seals are still holding – it might be beyond my ability to fix. But I can't give up on her – she – she never gave up on any of us."

The dainty elf nodded vigorously.

"She's strong. Stronger than I think even she knows. Isabela said there are always Templars at the Rose. I'll go – don't want your spirit –"

As she stood and brushed herself down, a bright blue streak came into view. The pair of mages scrambled quickly to their feet, ready to do their part. No sooner than they were standing, a vaguely familiar Templar recruit was thrust forward and a gauntleted hand was wrapped around each of them, shoving them aside.

"Get out of range! She needs you unharmed!"

Fenris hissed having pushed them a little further from the door, before he stalked back to the somewhat green-faced youth.

"He looks younger than I remember. Did he do something with his hair?"

"That's not Thrask, Merrill!"

Anders whispered as he pulled the Dalish girl behind a pillar.

"Change of plan."

An out of breath Aveline supplied

"The Knight-Captain seemed to think we were there for a reason"

"But you wre there for a reason-"

"A _different _reason Merrill! Doesn't matter, he'll do."

The Guard-Captain nodded at the recruit who was being snarled at by an increasingly impatient elf. As she made to approach the estate; Anders thrust a small vial of blue liquid into her hand. With a curt nod she jogged over and joined Fenris.

Taking over the explanation she handed the potent lyrium potion over. A look of determination crossed the Templars face as he nodded at the woman and sank the potion in one. Both Merrill and Anders could feel the power of the silence being summoned and dropped further back, into the shadows.

"What we miss?" Varric wheezed, clutching a a stich in his side.

"We in yet?"

A surge of anti-magic energy ripped through the courtyard.

"Looks like we're right on time!"

Isabela exclaimed from next to Sebastian; both of whom were spattered in what looked to be a mix of mud and blood, and now sported impressive new bruises.

"I think I'll go express our thanks – drinks are on you Varric! Good luck Kitten"

With that the pirate dashed over to drape herself across the Templar; expertly manoeuvring him away from the Hawke residence.

Taking their cue; the rest of the gang surged forward to enter the now unsealed estate.

Fenris had thrown himself through the door at the first opportunity. He ran full pelt to reach her.

At the top of the stairs he jolted to a stop, the breath forced from his lungs.

There she was. Not where he had left her, tucked up in bed. But crumpled on the floor; broken and unclothed, the colour drained from her once vibrant form. Resolutely unmoving.

He staggers back until his back hit something solid and he could do nothing but slide to the ground.

He was too late.


End file.
